New World
by IceHeart161
Summary: A look at what might have been. Harry is in Slytherin and there's a new DADA teacher.
1. Prologue

Prologue

"_If you're going through hell, keep going." -Winston Churchill_

There was a bright flash of light and it was over. Hermione didn't remember falling to the ground, but it must have happened in the last few moments. She pushed herself up as quickly as possible, and noticed others around her doing the same. Fighting would continue for sometime, but Harry or Voldemort had just been killed. There was no other reason for that light.

Merlin, she hoped that Harry had won.

She moved to where the light had originated. _Harry is alright,_ the phrase was a mantra, letting no other thought in her mind.

There was a crater outside of the Leaky Cauldron, nothing was left of Voldemort, at least, not that she could see. Harry, however, was a different story. He lay on the edge of the crater, as if blown backwards. There was blood on him, around him, she could see plenty of wounds as she ran to him, but he was breathing, alive.

"It's finally over," Harry whispered as she started to tend to him. He leaned into her and smiled a little.

"Almost over, Harry."

He nodded, "Killed him," his voice was hoarse, exhausted, "Not gonna come back this time. Not gonna let him."

"You did it," she stroked his forehead.

"We did."

She didn't argue. After seven years of knowing him, Hermione knew that Harry had never wanted to be the hero. Telling him that he was would only upset him more.

She heard footsteps but could see no one. Her wand out, she waited for whoever it was to reveal their location. It was Ron. He approached slowly, wand drawn. Once he saw her and Harry, he relaxed visibly.

"Is he alright?" Ron asked, leaning over the other man.

Hermione began to speak, but Harry beat her to it. "Everything's attached."

Ron smiled and looked at Hermione, "We should move him. He needs a medi-witch and we'll have company soon."

She nodded.

Both she and Ron hooked one of Harry's arms around each of their shoulders. "Do you have your wand, Harry?" she asked.

He tried to shake his head, but it seemed to hurt too much. "Broke it fighting him. Shattered it."

"Okay."

Footsteps again. Hermione detached herself from Ron and Harry and moved ahead of them. Ron could carry Harry's weight better than she could, and now she wasn't hindered if an enemy exposed himself.

One did.

Upon seeing her, his wand arm sprung to attention, as did hers. He could see Ron and Harry behind her. Showing caution he didn't attempt to use his wand. "Harry's alive, Malfoy," she said, "Your master is dead. Don't do anything stupid."

His eyes widened, shocked.

Then everything went black.

"_Behold, I show you a mystery; we shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye..." 1 Corinthians 15: 51-52_


	2. Chapter One

Part One

"_The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world that he didn't exist." -The Usual Suspects_

Hermione Granger was not looking forward to her Seventh Year. Of course, if anyone asked her, she'd lie. Why shouldn't she be happy? She was Head Girl, she had friends, her classes were challenging…

"Damn it!" The curse stuck to her tongue, unaccustomed as she was to swearing.

She looked at her schedule again, even though she'd memorized it long before.

She hadn't been admitted into NEWT level Defense Against the Dark Arts. It didn't matter that the class was all but obsolete these days, it was challenging, and fun, and Pavarti Patil had been accepted! Of course, she didn't want in the class just because her friend was in it. But Hermione was Head Girl, and far more qualified than the other girl. Besides, Hermione had never been jealous of anyone else academically.

She'd just have to do what she'd done last year. Hermione heaved a sigh and gathered up her books. She had Divination in less than fifteen minutes; it would take a brisk walk to arrive on time.

Unfortunately, as fast as she was walking, she didn't notice that she was about to run into someone until it was too late.

"Whoa, Granger," Harry Potter said, "Watch out, you might get hurt." _He_ was probably on the way to DADA, she thought bitterly. He'd always been the professor's favorite.

"Sorry, Potter," she said, pasting a fake smile on her face, "Nice talking to you, but I've got to go."

Potter didn't take the hint. "Where are you headed?"

"Divination," normally, she'd have been nicer, but she was running late.

"Huh," he seemed surprised, "I didn't know that you were taking that. Mind if I walk with you?"

Hermione wanted to scream. Instead she said, "Why not?"

She didn't hate Harry Potter, not really, but he was in NEWT DADA and she was stuck in Divination. Professor Atropos was a decent teacher and an interesting man, but Divination was one part luck, one part knowledge, and three parts silly guessing.

After a few minutes of useless small talk, she asked him, "Would you be willing to let me copy your DADA notes?"

"You're not in DADA," Potter said cautiously.

Hermione knew that it was his favorite class, but she didn't know why he couldn't share knowledge. "Not…exactly. I asked to be admitted this year, despite the fact that I wasn't permitted to take the class last year. You know Ron Weasley?" Harry nodded, then again, who didn't know Ron Weasley, "He let me read his notes last year. But he decided not to continue with the course, so I was hoping…"

"If you're not in the class, why do you need the notes? And why were you using Weasley's? I've seen his handwriting."

_I'm lying to you,_ her mind told him, but, as he wasn't telepathic, he didn't pick it up. "I still want to learn DADA; you never know when it might come in handy."

"I'm sorry, Granger, it's just that…"

"Hey, it's alright," she met his eyes, "No hard feelings."

"Harry!" Draco Malfoy called from behind them, ignoring her, "You're going to be late for class."

Harry checked his watch, "See you later, Granger."

Hermione nodded and watched Draco Malfoy and the Slytherin Prince walk away.

She hadn't been late for Divination, so she assumed her foul mood was still due to her DADA issues. If only Professor—

She wouldn't go down that road.

He'd never liked her; it really was a pity that she felt the need to learn the subject. These were peaceful times, and few students felt the need to take such a difficult advanced class as DADA.

On the other hand, she'd probably give some small body part to be in the class.

There was food all around her at the Gryffindor table, but she was too mad to eat. "So, Hermione," Ron Weasley drawled out sitting next to her. His friends Dean and Seamus were seated a few seats down.

"What?" she snapped. It hadn't been a good day.

"What'll it cost me to borrow your Potions homework?"

She rolled her eyes. Draco Malfoy heard his query and stopped, "Weasley, you couldn't afford to let her do your homework for you if it was free." Blaise Zabini, who was standing next to him, smiled, but Harry Potter looked at Malfoy and shook his head slightly. The three walked away quietly.

Ron's face was red, but she ignored it, "You can't copy, but I'll help you out if you need it."

"Come on, Hermione! Why can't you help a friend in need?"

"Since when are we friends?" He shrugged, "And we've had exactly one Potions class this year. If it's so hard, why are you taking it?"

He shrugged again. Then he stood up and went back to sit by his friends. A few minutes later, Lavender Brown and Pavarti Patil sat down next to her. "What did you do to Ron?" Pavarti asked.

Hermione shrugged, "I told him that I wouldn't let him cheat off of me in Potions, but I'd help him out. Apparently, that's not good enough for him. Oh, and Draco Malfoy came over and was a total git to him. Potter was with him, though, so crisis averted."

"Only you," Lavender began, "Could make an encounter with the Neapolitan Boys sound so…clinical." Sometimes, Hermione regretted that she'd introduced the girls to Muggle ice cream one summer. Ever since, Ron, Potter, and Malfoy have become the Neapolitan Boys because of their hair color, and the fact that they were delicious.

"I wouldn't say it was clinical, but it wasn't exactly interesting."

They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes until Hermione asked Pavarti, "Have you had DADA yet?"

The girl looked sympathetic as she shook her head, "You didn't get in again?"

"No."

"Why aren't you allowed to take it?" Lavender asked her, "Didn't you get more Os than anyone in a century?"

"It seems," Hermione said, "That I have an attitude problem."

"Snape would say that, too, but it didn't keep you from NEWT level Potions."

"You're forgetting something. No matter how much Snape dislikes me, he respects my work. Professor Riddle doesn't."

"_It is never too late to become what you might have been." George Eliot_


	3. Chapter Two

Part Two

"_The terrible immoralities are the cunning ones hiding behind masks of morality."  
-Vernon Howard_

Draco Malfoy couldn't always like Harry Potter. Though they'd been friends since they'd met while shopping for robes before their first year, it didn't mean their friendship always ran smoothly.

Of course, that was mostly Harry's fault.

Harry was the leader, as his father before him had been of a similar group of Gryffindors. No Malfoy would ever admit it, but they acted better as seconds in command. However, as second in command, he was still supposed to have some power. Harry, though, wouldn't even let him mock Weasley.

And the other boy had been asking for it!

Blaise snapped a finger in front of Draco's face. He turned and sneered at the other boy. "What's up, Draco?" Harry asked.

Draco shrugged.

"Is this about Weasley back there?"

Draco rolled his eyes. Inside he was screaming. Why did his best friend know everything?

"Man, I'm sorry about that. Just…Weasley's not that bad, really. So just leave him alone, okay?"

"Is he, what, under your protection?"

Harry shrugged and ate his food. A few minutes later, Blaise said, "We're going to be late for DADA."

Draco laughed, "With Golden Boy with us," he clapped Harry on the shoulder, "Does that even matter?"

Harry was already on his feet. He said nothing, expecting them to follow. Of course, they did.

They sat in the front row of the DADA class, Blaise on Harry's left and Draco on Harry's right. He wasn't sure if the arrangement was symbolism or coincidence.

Draco looked around as the students filtered in, looking for any new faces. As this was the second stage of a NEWT level class, he wasn't surprised when he didn't see any. With the exception of Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, all of Slytherin House took the class, along with all of the Ravenclaws with the exception of Su Li, Michael Corner, and Terry Boot, the only Gryffindor in the class was Pavarti Patil. Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott were the Hufflepuff students.

Today was the first day that he realized that all of the students were either Purebloods or Half-bloods.

Strange.

Professor Riddle began talking and Draco didn't dare to say a word. If either Harry or the professor caught him, he'd be in trouble. Though he was taking diligent notes, for fun, Draco tallied up the number of times Harry was called on and answered a question correctly.

By the end of the class, he was fourteen for fourteen.

As they walked back to the dungeons, Blaise asked Harry, "Have you asked your dad about pursuing Quidditch next year?"

Harry groaned and Draco rolled his eyes, "He wants me to put in at least a year in the Ministry. I'm seventeen, I should be able to do what I want, you know? Of course, Dad doesn't believe that. He also can't believe that one year could hurt my career. I can't even imagine a year off of the pitch."

Draco said nothing while Blaise and Harry conversed on the subject. After he finished with school, there'd be no choice for him. His father had, in fact, already bought—arranged—a position for him in the Ministry.

"_You'll be respected,"_ He could hear his father say. _"A fine job in the Ministry, a family not to far in the future, you'll prosper, son, just like I did."_

Respectable and Prosperous, it could have been the Malfoy family motto.

"I hear Weasley's put together a strong team this year," Draco said as they sat on couches in their Common Room. "Do you think that Ginny Weasley could beat you?"

"When did you become a reporter?" Blaise asked. Draco punched his shoulder.

Harry actually looked thoughtful, then he shrugged, "Maybe, if her brothers tried to train her this summer, she could be tough."

They talked about Quidditch for over an hour. During the conversation, Draco pulled out his books and started to work on his homework. At nine o'clock, he excused himself from the Common Room and went to the library.

When Blaise and Harry tried to come with him, he said he'd rather study alone. They still wouldn't give up. "I need to do some research," he lied, "It'll go faster if I'm alone." Giving up, they shrugged and let him leave.

No one saw him in the hallway, but he could hear people near him. The younger years would be in their Houses, but the older students, especially those worried about OWLs and NEWTs would begin studying late, even this early in the year. Once at the library, he did see other students. Because of their presence, he took the long way to his table, around three stacks of books, to a table far from the entrance and on the wall.

He sat down and took out his Defense Against the Dark Arts books and started to reread his notes. Familiar footsteps sounded down the hall, feminine, and, somehow, snotty.

They, undoubtedly, belonged to Hermione Granger.

He didn't look up when she stopped in front of him. In fact, just to frustrate her, he turned the page of his book and continued to read.

She sat down and waited for him to acknowledge her. When he didn't after more than a few minutes, she said, "What you said to Ron this afternoon wasn't clever. You're the Head Boy's best friend; you should be striving to set an example, a good one. Besides, most people _like_ Ron, what can you gain from mocking him?"

"Pleasure."

She groaned, "You're not half the ass that you pretend to be. In fact, I can see right through you."

"I'm sure."

"I can." She pulled his DADA notes away from him. "H.P. 14, what does that mean? Is it some perverse Slytherin euphemism?"

"He correctly answered fourteen questions." Draco underlined a passage in his book. He almost jumped when Granger snapped in front of his face. "So," he looked at her, "I take it that you want to copy my DADA notes this year?"

"Yes."

"Go for it." Her face lit up and he smiled at her. They weren't friends, as such, but over the previous school years they'd formed a working relationship. He taught her Defense Against the Dark Arts, and, in exchange, whenever he needed help, she gave it. Both kept the arrangement strictly secret.

"Fourteen questions?" she asked, "Even I'm not that attentive."

He laughed, "Riddle's always loved Harry more than a son. It's actually a little disturbing. But as long as his protégé is my best friend, I don't have to worry too much about his legendary wrath."

"It's worse than Professor Snape's and I should know, having experienced them both," she chewed on the end of a quill.

Draco didn't sympathize, not really. She was a Gryffindor, therefore, she'd be subject to harsher lessons in their classes, as a Slytherin, he expected the treatment she received in Potions and DADA, when she'd taken it, in his other classes.

Hermione put down her quill, "Is he…teaching you the Dark Arts?"

Draco's head snapped up, he gathered his thoughts before he said, "He's teaching us some Dark Arts theory, supposedly a better understanding of the spells being cast leads to a better defense."

"Oh, that makes sense."

"Yeah," but, of course, it wasn't the whole story.

"_People only see what they are prepared to see." –Ralph Waldo Emerson_


	4. Chapter Three

Part Three

"_The trouble with our times is that the future is not what it used to be."  
-Paul Valery_

At eleven o'clock, Harry Potter snuck out of his room. It wasn't difficult. As the Head Boy, he had a separate bedroom from the other boys of his year, and, before his third year, his father had given him an Invisibility Cloak.

The walk through the halls wasn't long. He only needed to go to Professor Riddle's office.

"_Stop by my office tonight, Harry."_

"_Sir?" _

"_Around eleven, I'd like to talk to you."_

"_About what, sir?"_

"_Just stop by, you won't have any problems with the curfew, will you?"_

"_Er, no."_

"_Good, then."_

He knocked on the thick wooden door. "Come in, Harry," said Professor Riddle as the door opened. Harry took off his cloak and tucked it in his bag.

"You wanted to see me, Professor?"

Riddle nodded, "Yes," he said nothing more.

"Sir?" Harry prompted.

The professor smiled a little and shook his head, "Sorry, my mind wandered for a minute. How would you feel about receiving private lessons from me this year? Advanced lessons."

"Really, sir?"

"On one condition."

"What?"

"We would need to use the utmost discretion. Few of the other professors would understand what I would like to teach you."

"And what is that, sir?"

"Total discretion?" Harry nodded.

"The Dark Arts."

Harry's eyes widened, and he nodded again.

_Hermione smelled something acrid. Her head hurt and her arm was bleeding. She was laying on something soft and a little warm. She sat up._

_And screamed._

_She was on a pile of bodies; she could even recognize some of them. Seamus, Luna Lovegood, and others, all dead._

Hermione opened her eyes. She was in the Gryffindor Common Room. It was late, and she was alone. Shaking her head, she stood up and went to her room. Taking no time to even change into night clothes, she lay down and went back to sleep.

'_Have to get to…who?' She needed to find someone, but she couldn't remember. 'Just keep moving,' she told herself. A curse flew at her, and she countered in without thinking, using a charm that she was sure she'd never learned in school._

_Her arm still hurt._

_This wasn't a normal dream._

'_I have to find Harry.'_

_Why was she looking for Harry Potter?_

Ron paced in the boys dormitory in Gryffindor long after the other boys had gone to sleep. He didn't want to sleep, or, more accurately, he didn't want to dream. For the past three nights he'd been having the strangest dreams.

He was at his house over summer break, somehow he knew it was before his fourth year, and Hermione Granger and Harry Potter were there.

"Snap out of it, Ron," he told himself. "You're just delusional, it happens to everyone."

"Ron?" It was Dean, "Go to sleep."

"Yeah," Ron didn't lie down.

The dreams about a friendship with Granger and Potter were weird enough, but he couldn't get to sleep now because of the dream he'd had earlier.

He'd been in a big battle, fighting masked men with funny hats for reasons he wasn't sure. Though in the dream, he'd known that he was absolutely right and justified in killing those men.

In the harsh light of day, or three in the morning, he wasn't so sure.

"_Avada Kedavra, you son of a bitch!" He pulled off the mask, it was Marcus Flint. Ron spit on his corpse._

He'd heard of the killing curse before, but he didn't know the words, at least not consciously, but he'd killed someone in his dream. Marcus Flint hadn't been a friend, of course, but Ron had no particular problem with him.

So why had he felt justified in his death?

"_You're not a killer, Draco."_

_Draco couldn't see or feel anything, there were just words, flying at him. They made him bleed._

"_This task restores honor and glory."_

"_I'm not afraid! It's you who should be scared!"_

"_Mudblood Granger."_

"_Dark Mark."_

"_Death Eaters."_

"_Someone's dead."_

"_Filthy little Mudblood."_

"_Not a killer."_

Draco woke with a start, suppressing a scream. He hadn't had a dream in years, and now _that_. He was sweating profusely.

The door from the Common Room opened and Harry Potter walked in, shrugging off his Invisibility Cloak. To access his private room, he had to go through the boy's dorm.

"Harry?" Draco's voice was hoarse.

Harry jumped, "Hey, what are you doing up?"

"Had a bad dream, you?"

He didn't say anything for a moment, then, "Just needed to think. I took a walk."

Draco nodded, though something was off about what he said.

"G'night," Harry opened the door and went into his private room.

Draco lay back down, but he didn't go back to sleep. He knew that when he finally succumbed, blood and death would follow him.

"_You're not a killer, Draco."_

"_The thing about magic? There's always consequences. Always."  
-Buffy the Vampire Slayer_


End file.
